


The Swayze Protocole

by TerresDeBrume



Category: Norse Mythology, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:45:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerresDeBrume/pseuds/TerresDeBrume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s a reference. Patrick Swayze was an actor, and in 1990 he did this one movie where his character got murdered and then came back to his appartment and haunted his wife for a while. I thought it fitted.”<br/>“Did she get rid of him at some point?” Loki asks, and he could swear he sees color rising to Tony’s cheeks.<br/>“I’m not a fucking ghost!”<br/>“Also, you spelled protocol wrong.”</p><p> </p><p>  <i>In which some people don't even get silent after their death.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After all this time

**Author's Note:**

> The rating is mostly there for safety reasons, honestly. I don't think it will change but if it should be the case I would warn you, don't worry <3

The sound of blade-sharp stilettos echoes against the naked wall of a suspended house in Malibui, dust shivering from the sudden appearance of movement -something this room hasn’t known in months. The stilettos advance quickly, sharply, heels clicking over dirty tiled floor with professionalism ringing after them.  
  
“We were going to have it cleaned up, but the teams were delayed and since you insisted on seeing it _today_ ….”  
“It’s alright, don’t worry. I’ve spent my childhood with books, and my teenage years in archives. I don’t mind dust.”

  
The woman raises a surprised eyebrow but doesn’t comment as she leads her client through the empty shell of a living room long-since abandoned, leaving footprints in the fine sheet of silver on the floor. Everything around them is silent, but when the woman reaches the end of the room and presses the button opening the blinds the sounds of the ocean crashing against rock several hundred feet below and birds fighting over nesting spaces invade the house. The sky is clear, a summer sky, without a single cloud in it as if rain were but a distant legend here….  
Perhaps, on days like this one, it is.  
  
“All the electric circuits are ready to work,” the woman says, “The blinds are bulletproof, they were a late addition….”  
“Following the Mandarin’s attacks, I know.”  
  
She stops and flusters for a moment, but doesn’t try to bring the matter up again.  
Her client is a tall man, black of hair but fair of skin, with green eyes changing color in the fluctuating light of the room. He is dressed all in black, save for the emerald tie about his neck and the jade cufflinks on his wrists. He stands straight, silent, aloof, looking at the room as if there were more to it than walls and floor, and a large glass fountain in dire need of water to run with. He looks guarded, cautious, and the tall line of his silhouette catches on the lens of long obsolete security camera carefully set in the walls.  
  
“As you’ve been informed, the lower levels haven’t been accessible since Anthony Stark’s decease, but if you take a look at the digital padlock over there, you’ll see the seam is barely noticeable when the door is closed. It shouldn’t be too much of an aesthetic problem, I think.”  
  
The man nods, still silent, as if the few words he spoke earlier had been too much already. He follows her to the lock though, examining it with more interest than he showed for the entire room… in fact, the lower levels may as well be the main reason of his presence here.  
  
“And the electronics? Are they prepared to work?”  
“They are working,” the woman answers, lighting the padlock with a single touch of her finger. “Though nobody ever registered any electricity being redirected here.”  
“Of course not,” the tall man mutters to himself, “He’ll have set up an Ark Reactor here as well.”  
“Well,” the woman says after a long stretch of silence, “Seeing as the garage in locked with the rest, I guess this is all… unless you wish to see the helipad again?”  
“It won’t be necessary, thank you,” the man answers.  
“In that case, Mr. Laufeyson, I’ll take you back upstairs and let you think about this some more, shall I?”  
  
There’s a pause then, an almost imperceptible straightening of the man’s spine as he looks down on his guide and her perfectly worn suit, her impeccable French bun and the rim of her glasses.  
  
“I think there was a misunderstanding,” he says, “I did not come here to make my mind on anything.”  
“You… didn’t?”  
“No. I’m buying this house, Miss Spitzer. I intend to move in on Friday.”  
  
 _That_  makes the woman react, jaw dropping open in a surprised ‘o’ as she clutches her papers to her chest:  
  
“Mr. Laufeyson, as much as our company would rejoice from such a contract, I feel compelled to ask if you are certain of your choice, I mean, the history of the house….”  
“I am perfectly aware of the history tied to this place,” the tall man assures her, “ _and_  the obligations attached to it.”  
“Well,” the woman says with a blush, “If you’re willing to comply with the Shield inspections….”  
“I am. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a rather impressive check to sign.”  
  


> **_Monday, May 12, 2145_ **  
> **_ Iron Man house Finally Sold! _ **  
>   
> _For over a century, the Malibu Mansion of the legendary Anthony Edward Stark (1968 - 2020), best remembered as the Iron Man, has finally found a new owner._  
>   
>  _The Mansion, inherited by Mrs. Virginia ‘Pepper’ Hogan-Potts after the decease of Mr. Stark, has stayed in her family since then, until Mr. Bruce Hogan (director of the Hogan & Hogan chauffeur agency) announced his intention to remain celibate and childless and his desire to sell the house to ‘a deserving person’ before his death._  
>   
>  _It seems Mr. Hogan has found a suitable candidate in Mr. Loki Laufeyson, 25 years old heir to Stark Industries, who is widely admitted to be our best specialist both on Anthony Stark’s life and his technological work._  
>   
>  _Our readers will recall the agitation following Mr. Laufeyson’s graduation from the SIT and the general consensus that he would be the one to find a way to make the Ark Technology available to the public again …_  
>   
>  _(More on page 2)_

The man comes back, as promised, on the next friday.

His tie is stripped gold this time, and there is a young girl on his arm, with silvery-blonde hair and purplish-blue eyes, chattering away for as long as it takes them to reach the front door.

It’s late, and everything is dark save for the light they use to make their way in, moving among freshly-installed furniture and vintage posters of classical movies of old, going as far back as the 2010’s. They make a quick tour of the main floor, but it doesn’t last very long before they end up in front of the digital lock blocking the hidden door to the lower level.

“It looks simple,” the girl says. “But then so do I.”  
“Put yourself on charge and defragment you hard drive,” the man tells her, “We’re getting to work tomorrow at dawn.”  
“How does anybody ever believe you when you pretend you’re not after the Iron Man?”  
“People are stupid,” the man grins, sharp like a knife. “Good night, Sigyn.”  
“I’ll be sure to download the research folders too!” the girl adds.

The tall man leaves for the bedroom, but the girl simply brings a chair to the wall, reaches inside her hair in the vicinity of her ear, and pulls a long cord out, which she plugs into the wall. A few miliseconds later, her eyes flicker orange and a disembodied voice rises in the room:

Ｃｏｍｐｕｔｅｒ Ｕｎｉｔ Ｓ．Ｉ．Ｇ．Ｙ．Ｎ ｃｏｎｎｅｃｔｅｄ．  
Ｅｓｔｉｍａｔｅｄ ｃｈａｒｇｉｎｇ ｔｉｍｅ： ８ ｈ ５９ ｍｎ．

Several feet below, in a room that hasn’t seen the light of day in over a century, something moves.

_Ｗｏｏｔ？_


	2. Nobody ever expects the smurf thing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a door opening, and someone didn't expect Loki to be blue.

Loki wakes up to the insidious warmth of a lone ray of sun on his cheek and the sound of Sigyn tinkering around in the corridor, probably starting on the padlock already.  
He blinks slowly, trying to chase sleep from his eyes like scratching ice away from a car’s windows in winter. The temperature settings feel alright, something he was worried about when he went to sleep, but merely tossing the sheet out of his way is enough to dissipate all concerns on that front.

He still has scars from the last time he left the household parameters unmonitored, and even back then he only owed his survival to… ah, but he doesn’t want to think of that. With a yawn, Loki scratches at his chin and puts his slippers on, unwilling to risk burning his feet on the floor.  
He is just about to leave his bedroom when Sigyn comes into the door, eyes blinking orange, and tells him:

 

“Phone call.”

“Pick up,” Loki answers, using the light from her eyes to guide himself in the darkness of the room… or what he considers darkness at this time of the year, at any rate.

 

He doesn’t feel surprised when his father starts the call with:

 

“I thought we had an agreement?”

“We do,” Loki sighs, letting Sigyn guide him toward the kitchen and the light, “But my cell froze and I haven’t had time to replace it yet.”

 

The tell-tale sound of Laufey’s disapproval travels over the phone as easily as it does gazing across a room, and Loki would snort if he didn’t know his father would hear him for sure. As it is though, he has time to roll his eyes before Laufey sighs, deeper every time, and Loki’s shoulders tense when his father says:

 

“Your control hasn’t been that bad since you were a teenager, Loki, and it’s been more than five years since….”

“It was just a little slip!” Loki insists, even though he nearly had a breakdown about it the other day. “I’m fine, father.”

“It’s your third phone this year,” Laufey growls, “I don’t call this fine. If you would only go and see someone, you would….”

“Can we  _please_  skip this part of our ritual today, Father?”

The cupboard door slams shut harder than it should, but Loki can’t bring himself to notice, merely grateful for the rising light—that, and the lukewarm coffee.

“I have work for today, and I would  _really_  like to get started on it as soon as possible.”

Just the thought of unlocking Tony Stark’s workshop makes Loki bounce his feet under the table, impatient to get Sigyn off phone call duty and onto far more interesting things.

“Are you still hoping the Iron Man technology is down there?” Laufey asks, interest caught.

 

He may not be as obsessed as his son is about Tony Stark and his creations, but no man with an interest in technology can stay indifferent to the potential uncovering of such an important part of their past… Laufey was never an exception to the rule in that respect.

 

“It’s the last possible place, anyway,” Loki says, “and there is evidence that the house is still run by some kind of information system. We had to get around it to set up the temperature and all the lovely items of modern technology that keep me alive.”

“You think it could be the Jarvis?” Laufey asks, voice full of widened eyes, “Really?”

“I don’t see what else it could be,” Loki tells him, trying -and probably failing- to play it cool. “Sigyn….”

“Your  _computer_ ,” Laufey cuts, and Loki has to grip the table to prevent himself from answering -or sending an apologetic look toward Sigyn.

“She,” he starts again, doing his best to pretend he isn’t bothered by the interruption, “is going to look at it as soon as we hang up, actually.”

“Oh. Well. Is this the point where I try to keep you on a while longer then?”

“Please,” Loki chuckles, shoulders uncoiling the slightest bit, “we both know you’re almost as curious about this as I am.”

 

They also both know their weekly phone calls have been strained for the past five years, even more so than they were when Loki accidentally spilled expansive wine on his aunt Frigga’s gown during the renewal of her marriage to his uncle Odin. That one led to some very awkward moments, but at least it was relatively short-lived… Five years of a strained relationship, however, takes its toll on everyone, and at this point Loki doesn’t think he’s very far off the mark -if at all- when he assumes Laufey is as glad to have a good reason to hang up as Loki himself is.

 

“You’re right,” Laufey agrees with a slightly exaggerated chuckle, “that’s not a good habit to keep,  Loki.” He sighs, and this time the smile in his voice actually sounds natural. “Well then, go and retrieve the lost treasure.” Loki thanks him and promises to do his best but, just as he is about to tell Sigyn to cut the call, Laufey adds: “And get rid of the robot!”

 

And just like that, Loki’s good mood vanishes again.

 

“I suppose I should get to work now, shouldn’t I?” Sigyn says, and she raises her hands in a placating gesture when Loki glares at her, as if she’d said something particularly offending.

 

He doesn’t like that he looks at her like that when the only person he’s truly angry at is his father, and he doesn’t like that she takes it all in stride when it would have been so different before. Suddenly, the cereal in his bowl doesn’t look so appealing, and the coffee doesn’t smell as appetizing anymore. It’s like a switch, really, and Loki hates that it always seems to activate after he talks with his father.  
(Conversations with Farbauti aren’t necessarily easier, but with her it’s more about things not being said at all, rather than things being repeated over and over again.)

When he is done with his breakfast and all the blinds are open to let the harsh light of Malibu flood the mansion, Loki rises from his seat and makes his backbone pop back into place, cracking every joint from his shoulder to his fingers in the process, and walks back to his room so he can change into outside-world-appropriate clothes.  
He ends up going for an emerald green suit that matches his complexion and then looks at himself in the full-length mirror covering a fourth of the wall… either Stark was as narcissistic as he appeared in the archive videos, or someone in the Potts family had a real mirror kink. Still, it’s good enough for Loki to check his outfit in, making sure it falls properly on his body before he slicks his hair back and ensures he is prepared for the high temperatures of Malibu. Not that he is ashamed of the way he normally looks, of course! He just doesn’t fancy dying of heatstroke.

Sigyn actually starts when he steps up to her in the corridor though, breath coming out of his mouth in thick puffs of mist he sort of wants to swallow back.

 

“I never get used to seeing you like that,” she smiles, making Loki’s shoulders tense again.

“Please,” he says, “remind me to take that phrase out of your coding.”

“Alright,” Sigyn agrees. A beat of silence, and then she asks: “Are you on your way to New York?”

“Yes. Helblindy was supposed to take care of the legal bits, but I guess he decided to sod it along with the rest.”

“You can hardly blame him for falling in love,” Sigyn remarks, most of her ‘attention’ focused on the padlock, “Is Thor still distressed over Jane’s departure then?”

“Not that I know of,” Loki says, grabbing the travel suitcase he didn’t bother unpacking, “But I’m not sure if I’ll be able to handle him wondering if he should go for Sif or not.”

Sigyn smiles and shakes her head, then concludes:

“See you in two days then.”

“I’ll count the hours,” Loki answers, and forgets to feel disturbed by it.

 

 

**{ooo}**

 

Thor, it turns out, is still the same boisterous man Loki grew up with.  
He remains far too loud when they meet in the airport, and his embrace is still much too strong for Loki’s taste -and, more importantly, for his ribs. Thor is… well. He looks like a soldier. It might be due to his time in the military, or possibly from his education, or maybe that’s just who Thor is, but the fact remains that an awful lot of people believe he is an ex-soldier, to the point where at least two otherwise serious magazines have stated so in articles about him. Loki can’t help but find this amusing.

 

“It’s good to see you cousin,” Thor tells him with a grin. “You spend too much of your time hidden in archives, I could have sworn you were twelve just a week ago.”

“I recall you being the same age,” Loki retorts, the arch of his eyebrow undermined by the upward twist of his lips. “Only  _you_  were always too busy looking at the sky.”

“I don’t like dwelling in the past,” Thor tells him as he pours them both a glass of the hydromel he keeps for special occasions, “You know that.”

“Yes,” Loki answers, “I can see that.”

 

The last time he visited Thor’s office -and that was only two years ago, no matter what his cousin might pretend- it was full of couple-like pictures of Thor and Jane, smiling together in various locations around the world… Loki doesn’t doubt they were carefully stored and preserved, but there is none to be found today, and the pictures from their group of High School friends looks oddly lonely in the middle of the desk.

 

“Let’s not talk about my sentimental life,” Thor shrugs when he notices Loki’s gaze, “It won’t change a thing to it, and I’m tired of telling everyone I’m fine.”

“Then you know how I feel,” Loki snorts, but it makes his cousin frown.

“Loki, you are my favorite cousin and I made you a promise, so I will only say this: our situations are  _vastly_  different. Whatever you like to think about what you are doing, you should never forget that.”

 

Ah, yes. Thor  _is_  capable of sounding like his father, when he wants to -Loki has almost forgotten that. Apparently, the gift isn’t reserved to the likes of Balder or Helblindy. Still, this is one of the rare occasions in which Thor doesn’t pretend something relatively serious is a joke, and for that Loki decides not to go for a fight, chosing to redirect the conversation instead.

 

“So,” he starts after he’s had a sip of his drink -delicious, as it ever is. Thor may lack in subtlety at times, but he does have taste. “About those coffemakers you wanted.”

“Is that what your father told you it was all about?” Thor says incredulously, “Coffeemakers?”

 

Loki snorts, unsurprised byt the reaction, which he was aiming for anyway.

It’s always fun to tease Thor about his projects, mostly because Thor is always teasing him about his obsession with Tony Stark and, really, that can’t go unanswered. Still, he knows if Thor succeeds it could mean  _drastic_  changes for humanity, hopefully good ones… Loki won’t admit it, but he’s kind of proud of Thor for it.

 

“Of course not,” he admits nonetheless, “I know you need equipment for your silly spaceships, and not the home-appliance kind. Why me though? My speciality lies with robotics, not medical engineering.”

“No,” Thor admits, sipping on his drink, “but you’re the only man I know who can understand both the biologic  _and_  mechanic concepts involved. I know it’s probably going to take you a while, but as you know, I’m willing to do long-term investments.”

“Your father must have loved it when you actually launched the project, didn’t he?” Loki asks.

 

Odin was always a bold businessman, that much is well known. Who else, after all, would have invested a hundred and fifty percent of their enterprise capital in the decaying corpse of Hammer Tech?

Thor and Loki were only toddlers when Odin decided to move to America for good, after his european weapons company got enough success to buy him the ages-old mirror to Stark Industries. Loki is a bit unclear on how his uncle did it -as it is not his favored subject of study- but in less than fifteen years, not only did he save Hammer Tech from complete disapearance, he brought it back to the top ten of the states’ contractors, working primarily with the NASA and Air Force Space Command… the newly-renamed Valkyrie Company is now among the leaders of the space-exploration market, and Thor is… well, actually, Loki isn’t exactly certain what Thor’s position in the company is.

He’s supposed to inherit it, as Balder has stated, rather forcefully, that he’d rather make his career in the military -which is rather amusing considering his childhood ambition of becoming a Middle Ages-like bard- but Odin doesn’t sound ready to release his hold on Valhalla Corp just yet, and Frigga is the one actually directing Valkyrie, at least officially.

 

For the most part, Thor sounds like a free element gravitating around the company and trying to pretend his projects aren’t  _entirely_  inspired by outdated science fiction movies with poor scenarii.

Loki is of the opinion Thor tends to fail on that count, and from Odin’s history of daring but-likely-to-pay-off moves, Loki guesses his cousins’ family dinner must be interesting, to say the least.

 

“He hated it and called me a fool, of course,” Thor laughs good naturedly, “You know how he is! I mean, I  _do_  have a history of not so wise choice, but honestly, with the possible profits? Come on, even he couldn’t refuse that.”

“Just make sure you won’t go colonialist on that planet,” Loki sighs. “Exploiting ressources is one thing….”

“Genocide is another, yes,” Thor agrees. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

 

He yawns and Loki finds himself echoing the sentiment, realizing, too late, that he finished his hydromel several minutes ago, and this conversation has been going on for longer than he originally anticipated. With a sigh, Loki pops his backbone into place, making Thor laugh.

 

“Alright,” he says, “Enough with office chairs. How about I treat you to some food from home? We can complain about our families and talk business, if you want.”

“And then I’ll end up miserably trashed with a hangover harsh enough that I’ll traumatize some poor clerk in order to get to the painkillers you don’t need?”

“That’s the plan,” Thor grins, and Loki sighs.

“Alright. Business first, or we’ll never get to the end of that contract.”

 

Thor’s laughter as they leave the office remind Loki of his High School days, and he doesn’t mind it one second.

 

**{ooo}**

 

When Loki walks back in his house, clutching a bottle of painkillers like his life depends on it, he finds Sigyn still connected to the lockpad and groans.

 

“Please, tell me we have news, I left the material for you new skin in New York.”

“I’m assuming you don’t mean the Avengers Tower,” Sigyn asks, cocking her head, and Loki has to snort -if the Tower were open to visitor, he would have made it a yearly pilgrimage years ago and Sigyn knows it.

“Very funny,” he tells her, taking his vest off as he adjusts to the temperature inside the house. “I truly need to work on it though, we can’t have you overheat every time you go outside.”

“We probably can’t,” Sigyn agrees while Loki removes his tie and shirt next, then starts working on his shoes. “However, I figured you would be more interested in this.”

 

She takes a dramatic step to the right, purple gown floating around her, and then Loki’s jaw drops.

The door in the wall screeches open with the loud wail of hinges in dire need of grease, and the stink of stale air washes over him, sticking to his skin and hair like promises of ancient secrets lying right beneath his feet. Suddenly his knees feel weak, his hear is pulsing, and his breathing comes out in harsh pants, excitement too great for even him to handle. It’s only when Sigyn’s hand reaches for his arms that he realizes a thin sheen of frost has formed around his feet, and he forces himself to take a deep breath. He can do this. He knows he can. He just has to brace himself.

 

“I’ll need you to guide me,” he tells Sigyn after he calms himself down, “It’s pitch-black in there, and there’s no way I’m going in pink.”

The air is warmer downstairs, and Loki can already feel he’s going to be uncomfortable, but he doesn’t mind, not if it means finally fulfilling the dreams of a lifetime. Nothing could make him renounce  _that_.

“And to think Thor finds all this boring,” he sighs, baffled as ever by his cousin’s disinterest. “I cant believe it.”

“Maybe he just likes project Pandora better,” Sigyn shrugs as she starts walking downstairs, “I mean, he  _did_  work on it for most of his life, too.”

 

Loki mutters something about Thor’s pet-project being nothing but a bunch of glorified astronauts, even though he knows there is a lot more to it than that, but he doesn’t actually pursue the topic either. He doesn’t really mind Thor’s lack of enthusias, especially since he’s actually one of the few people who never minded letting Loki go on and on about Stark’s technology.

Well, excluding Athena and Sigyn, but Athena is too busy convincing her father that she’s a better scientist than he thinks and Sigyn… well. Sigyn isn’t likely to complain now.

Loki follows Sigyn to the bottom of the stairs, trusting her night vision more than his own -which is, obviously, the smarter thing to do considering he tends to go night-blind ridiculously fast in the summer. Still, when they do reach the workshop proper, Loki doesn’t need Sigyn’s help to notice the blue light of a padlock shining in front of him.

 

It springs to life when he touches it, a blue holographic screen invading Loki’s vision.

 

Ｅｖｅｒｙｔｈｉｎｇ  ｉｓ  ｙｏｕｒｓ, it says, ｉｆ  ｙｏｕ  ｃａｎ  ｇｕｅｓｓ  ｔｈｅ  ｐａｓｓｗｏｒｄ．  Ｂｒａｖｏ．

 

Behind him, Loki can already hear Sigyn pulling on the cord she uses to connect herself to other infomatic devices, but Loki shakes his head.

 

“I don’t deserve this if I can’t figure out the answer on my own,” he tells her. “Thanks, but I won’t need your help anymore today. Can you go upstairs and make sure I have the rest of the week free to tinker?”

“I will.”

 

Loki listens to Sigyn’s footsteps retreating upstairs, then redirects his full attention on the padlock in front of him, trying to figure out what kind of password Stark could have set up. It has to be a riddle and, knowing Stark like he does, Loki is certain it’s going to be stupidly obvious, he can feel it in his guts. Still, it takes him a long time before he finds a satisfying option, and an even longer time before he decides to try it.

His efforts, however, are rewarded when he types in the last ‘s’ of ‘Congratulations’, and the whole workshop burst with light and loud music that reminds him of the ol hard rock bands he encountered in the countless videos of Tony Stark he watched.

The music is loud enough to deafen him, the light so harsh even he has to squint, and yet Loki is positive this is the second happiest moment of his life. His heart is pounting against his ribcage, like a rubberball trapped in a box, like the momevments of a cat chasing a laser light. His throat feels tight but his soul feels larger than him, larger than the workshop, larger than the house itself, and Loki finds himself wondering what it would be like to be a telepath and be able to share his elation with the rest of the world….

 

But suddenly the music stops, the light goes back to a dimmer, lower level, and behind him the electronic voice of a computer says:

 

“Ｗｅｌｌ，  Ｉ  ｄｉｄｎ’ｔ  ｅｘｐｅｃｔ  ｙｏｕ  ｔｏ  ｂｅ  ｂｌｕｅ．”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and critiques are welcome, here or [on Tumblr](http://terresdebrumestories.tumblr.com/ask) :)


End file.
